


rêveries

by jeanjosten



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Dreams and Nightmares, Father-Son Relationship, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, If Arthur survived but everyone else died, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 06:46:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16969707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeanjosten/pseuds/jeanjosten
Summary: Last man standing, Arthur keeps having nightmares—of blood, of terrifying things, of mournings he cannot recover from—but one night, Dutch appears to him as though to deliver a message.





	rêveries

**Author's Note:**

> [wndg on tumblr](http://wndg.tumblr.com/)   
>  [rdr2 playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/1157367950/playlist/5GJBnSFn8pnQXN7mCz0bCD?si=KGibyjMVSomp0jYIyHPB9w)

In a dream of wolves and blood and agony—he saw Dutch.

He was standing there, crouching beside him like a mother nursing a child back to sleep. A softness he had rarely seen on Dutch’s face, or, at least, that he hadn’t seen since Bronte, and the bank of Saint Denis, and Hosea. It was like they had never lost each other; like nothing of it had ever happened.

“Arthur, my son,” he whispered warmly, and Arthur looked up, eyes teary and red from exhaustion. Sleep was hard to get lately, and he dreamed terrible things. He held onto this illusion as hard as he could, knowing rêveries never lasted too long. 

He didn’t like to be referred as his son, no matter how much of a favorite this made John and himself. He didn’t want to be a favorite—he wanted to be else. Arthur knew full well, however, how devastatingly delusional requited affection was. He had seen it with Mary, and with Dutch; with all those years loving them both in a way neither could understand. He had stopped trying after a while, fully embracing the bitter taste of fate, swallowing it no matter how hard it was. There wasn’t much else to do.

“You’ve killed them,” Arthur said, voice hoarse and broken from a restless sleep. “You’ve killed John, and Jack, oh Jack…” He had killed them all, really, but Arthur was too stuck on the remnants of Jack’s corpse behind his eyelids, tattooed like a souvenir, that he could hardly make out any other word than the boy’s name.

“Did I?” Dutch asked, like he had lost himself long ago. Arthur knew it was the case.

He nodded, pulling himself upright with a disgusted frown upon his face. “You did. You gone mad, Dutch, you really did now. Abigail, Susan, Karen…” he shook his head, suddenly angry. “You’d said it was a new beginning. You’d said we’d find a home.”

“I thought we would.”

“But we didn’t. We didn’t, Dutch. All those books got to your head didn’t they? There’s nothing out there for people like us.”

“That’s not true. As different as we may be, there is a place for us to find. Somewhere.” 

“But they’re all gone,” he choked on the words. “There’s no one left to follow you Dutch. Not even me.”

“C’mon, you’re there son.”

“I’m not,” he said. Arthur was dreaming, alas. It was a rare occurence to be aware of it, but it didn’t hurt any less. He wished he didn’t know. “This isn’t real. And you’re gone.” 

It ached to admit it. But what other truth could he lull himself with? He had used them all by now, reforming dead faces in his mind, remembering voices he hadn’t heard since then. Those light memories he held on to, the brunt of time, Jack’s laughter, Sadie’s eyes when she started living again. Fighting. 

Oh, he had forgotten it all somehow. And he slept, slept, slept, trying so hard to revive everything back to reality, trying to dream it out of his hell.

“You know on that beach in Guarma…” he recalled, looking at the ground like he couldn’t bear the sadness in Dutch’s eyes. “I was close to quitting right there and then. No water, no food. I’d lost everything and everyone. No money, no horse, and you were nowhere to be found. So I tripped and, I fell, and I stayed there thinkin’, maybe this was the place I was meant to be, y’know?” 

“What made you change your mind?” Dutch asked. After all, he had found his way to them.

“You.” 

He thought about it, Dutch’s familiar face painted everywhere he looked. The way it had seemed like the only reason to fight anymore, to try even. He had gotten up, he had walked, and he had called Dutch’s name with a voice so weak he thought he had never really survived that shipwreck. 

And the way Dutch’s voice had broken at the sight, oh. 

_ My son. My dear Arthur. You’re… alive. _

He swallowed. Was he even alive anymore?

How could be hang on to the hope of finding Dutch if Dutch was gone? All hope was vain. He was numb to the core, ready for death.

But then Dutch came close and wrapped a hand around his nape, pulling him close. He kissed the top of his head and, in Arthur’s untrimmed hair, whispered hoarsely: “I will always be with you. Don’t let those memories fool you, son.”

He tried to remember the warmth of his fingers, but he was already gone--and just like that, Arthur woke up in tears.

  
  



End file.
